


Can You Tell Me How To Get To Sesame Street?

by Parivash007



Category: Sesame Street (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Crack Crossover, Mild Language, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 21:11:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5717284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parivash007/pseuds/Parivash007
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Benedict Cumberbatch is knocked unconscious in an alley in New York strange things happen leaving him to figure out what is real and what is a dream in this insane and unapologetic cross over between the 'Real Life' of some of our favorite characters, Sesame Street, and Sherlock.</p><p>There are 3 mentions of the F*** word- don't read if that bothers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can You Tell Me How To Get To Sesame Street?

**Author's Note:**

> I make absolutely no apologies for this. I laughed like a lunatic all the way through most of this, it did a body good. :) I hope you get a laugh out of it and that the scene with Miss Piggy doesn't scar you for life. Thanks to Adrienne DeVere for some of the dialogue (which was shamelessly bastardized to fit) and I apologize to anyone who watched Sesame Street as a kid. I know I did. This is better than that but not quite as good as Benedict counting apples and oranges. (You can find that link here- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-7jS7X-2ggA)

The stage door opened a crack and a sparkling blue-green eye peered out, a lock of dark brown hair obscuring a sharp cheekbone. The door slowly opened further and the man who was shrouded in the darkness of the doorway stepped out. He hurriedly pulled the collar of his coat around his neck suppressing a shudder as the icy blast of a New York winter swirled around him.  
The man glanced over his shoulder and hurried towards Broadway biting back a grin both at being done for the night and for having the intelligence, stealth, and cunning to escape his handlers. He pulled his iPhone out of his pocket and swiped through his notifications sending a text in response to one from his wife and slid his phone back into the pocket of his coat.  
He glanced behind himself as a movement caught his attention; he shrugged when he saw nothing in the poorly lit alley. Turning towards the brightly lit “Great White Way” he never saw the hulking man step up behind him, and he swore in shock as the man threw him against the wall of the building. With a resounding crack of skull on brick, superstar Benedict Cumberbatch crumpled to the ground unconscious.

* * *

A red haze filled his vision. Groaning and fighting a nasty headache Benedict slowly opened his eyes, squinting up towards the cement block ceiling. From behind him (or on top of his head, it hurt too badly to really decide which) a metallic clang echoed like a klaxon. He slowly sat up, bonking his head on the ridiculously low ceiling. Looking around properly he froze; noticing, for the first time, the bars present in place of walls. Slowly turning he found himself face to face with a small, red, furry creature. His brow creased in confusion and he groaned to himself, “I’m locked in a room with a feather duster. I have to be dreaming, or drunk. Something, hopefully.” Blinking blearily he turned towards the wall and closed his eyes hoping when he woke up he would be sitting in his dressing room in the theatre.  
He cringed as something sharp poked him in the small of the back. Sighing he tried to settle deeper into the rock hard mattress which may have been made from cardboard and tried to ignore the rest of the room. He was stabbed harder in the back with a sharp pointed object and he cursed. He reached back and prodded the tender spot in his lower back; his fingers came away with a trace of blood. He sat up and turned towards the feather duster that was stabbing him.  
“Is that a candy cane?” Benedict asked the horrible small red fuzzy ‘thing’ that was staring at him with strangely hypnotic yet psychotic eyes.  
“What’s it to you?” The creature asked.  
“You’re stabbing me with it. I should at least know what my murder weapon will be,” Benedict rolled his eyes and turned back towards the wall jumping and smashing his head on the ceiling as the creature stabbed him in the bum with the candy cane shiv. Benedict stood, and grabbed the creature lifting his surprisingly light body off the floor. “Who are you?” The creature stared at an enraged Benedict and his eyes slowly started to fill with tears. Benedict shook the small fur ball and growled, “tell me who you are!” The feather duster refused to answer and Benedict tossed the creature onto the other bunk where he landed with a hard thud and a groan, the candy cane j shattering on the concrete floor. “If you’re not going to tell me who you are, though I’ve got an idea and can only hope I’m wrong, I’m going to sleep.” Benedict laid down his abused back and bum facing the wall and closed his eyes.  
Some time later, it was hard to tell since the light didn’t seem to change much; Benedict was awoken by a furry little red three-fingered hand stroking his wrist. He opened his eyes and suppressed a horrified gasp as the little monster stared at him slowly repeating, “Elmo loves you, Elmo loves you, Ellllllmo lllll..ooooo..vvvvv..eeeee..ssssss you.” As Benedict’s eyes flew open Elmo looked at him calculatingly, “rub my tummy and no one gets hurt.”  
With a horrified whisper Benedict asked, “what?”  
Elmo leaned forward until their noses were almost touching and said again, “rub my tummy and no one gets hurt.” Benedict shook his head in shock and Elmo reached behind him pulling out what looked like a second, larger, more brightly colored shiv. “Do it.”  
“Fine.” Benedict groaned and jumped as Elmo hopped onto the bunk and casually started twirling the shiv around his fingers like a drummer with a drumstick. Benedict shuddered and stroked Elmo’s tummy before trying to escape. Elmo stopped him cold when he casually laid the shiv against his carotid artery and shook his head. Benedict groaned and rubbed Elmo’s belly again, stopping as quickly as he could.  
Elmo glared and shook his head, “you stop, and I stab.”  
Benedict nodded and resumed petting Elmo’s tummy trying to pretend that it was a dog. Or a cat. Or a piranha. Anything that would make this horrifying nightmare less of a reality. He jumped when Elmo started speaking in a contemplative voice.  
“Elmo don’t know what happened. He had friends. But, they left. Went bye bye.” Elmo waves sadly to a phantom friend, “now, Elmo is alone. And, Elmo is sad.”  
Benedict looked at Elmo, at a loss for words, “um….. I’m…. sorry?”  
Elmo looked at him sadly, his bottom lip trembling “me too.”   
Benedict bit back a gasp as a sobbing Elmo threw the shiv across the cell where it broke against the wall and burrowed into his chest. Benedict shuddered, “oh, God. What the hell is going on? I feel so violated.” Sighing heavily he patted Elmo’s back and looked towards the ceiling for inspiration. He smiled to himself and began to tell him a story, “when I was a young boy, there was a tree outside my window. It had all sorts of things hanging on it. Those things would bring good luck to any who saw it. And, under the tree there was a wishing well. The wishing well was said to be twice as deep as the tree was high and on warm summer evenings when the glow worms were out and the moon shone down on the well I would throw a penny into it and make a wish.” Elmo looked up at Benedict, enraptured.  
“What was your wish?” He asked softly.  
Benedict smiled wistfully, “to be happy, I always asked to be happy. Every time I would drop the penny into the well, because wishes from wishing wells don’t come true unless they are given a penny for their work, I would wait to hear it splash into the water far below. I used to count as long as this, 1 …….. 2………. 3…………… 4………………. 5…………………..”  
Benedict continued to count as Elmo’s eyes fell closed and he went to sleep. Benedict sighed softly and wryly thought that singing a lullaby until 3am for a fussy baby had never sounded so good in his life.

* * *

There was a loud clang on the bars and Benedict jumped awake. Elmo was gone the shattered pieces of the candy cane shiv gathering dust in a corner. The bars clanged open and a small blue eagle glared from the doorway. He jabbed a sharply taloned claw towards Benedict then motioned him into the hallway. Benedict stood, his back cracking and swore when his head connected with the ceiling of the cell. He sighed and stooped exiting the doorway of the cell into the hallway.  
Looking around as he followed the blue eagle he noticed that all the ceilings were lower than seemed possible, and the doorways were so low he had to bend his knees to go through them. Looking towards the front of the building he saw a small orange being with bright violently red hair writing in a notebook with what looked like crayons.  
He was ushered into a small room, across from him were two men (if you could call them that, they were only about three feet tall, and seemed to be made of felt) and what looked like an animated teddy bear. Benedict remembered to duck before he entered the room saving his head from any more immediate trauma. The men (as one which was creepy) motioned him to sit, so he sat.  
“You have the right to romaine scient. Anything you say can and will be used against you in accordion log.”  
Benedict held a hand up, “am I under arrest?”  
One of the old men glared at him, “you are. I’m Detective Stattler, that’s Detective Waldorf, and you are under arrest for the crime of stealing the sign.”  
Benedict’s eyebrows furrowed, “sorry, but what sign?”  
Waldorf threw a stack of construction paper drawings to the table in front of Benedict. “Look at them. Without that sign, everyone is lost. All the time!”  
“I didn’t steal the sign.” Benedict said completely confused.  
“You appear like magic last night, and the sign is gone this morning, coinkidink? I don’t think so.”  
“Ok, what time did the last person see the sign?”  
Waldorf and Stattler glanced at each other uneasily. “It was yesterday.”  
“Ok, I understand that, but what time was it? Do you know?”  
Stattler stood and jabbed at the drawings on the table, “I’m asking the questions here! Where is the sign?!”  
Benedict shrugged, “I’m sorry, but I have no idea. If these crime scene sketches are accurate it was still light when the sign disappeared. I was at the theatre until well after dark.”  
Stattler circled around behind him and sneered at his back, “do you have proof? Can anyone else say you were there?”  
Benedict laughed, “yeah, it was a sold out show. So, it was just me and five thousand of my friends. I left the theatre after and texted my wife. Then I woke up here with the Elmo the psycho.”  
Stattler and Waldorf glared at him suspiciously and Benedict rolled his eyes sighing. “Look, I didn’t steal the sign, if I had stolen it wouldn’t it be somewhere near me? If you had arrested me with the sign you’d already have it back, it’s a street sign, what would I really be able to do with it?”  
Waldorf stood and knocked on the door. A small pig like creature entered and shouted (rather abruptly) “Eureka! It is he. He stole the sign yesterday at six fifty seven PM Mars galactic time.”  
Benedict groaned and his head fell into his hands, he groaned, “Steven, no matter what you do I am NOT going to be the next Doctor. I swear, not the Doctor! Who did you have to pay to do this?”  
Waldorf glanced at Benedict then to Stattler and the pig like creature. “I think he’s gone mad.”  
Stattler guffaws, “don’t know if he’s gone mad, but wherever he’s gone it’s got to be better than here!”  
Waldorf guffaws and slaps the pig on the back causing him to choke on his jelly-covered finger. Benedict notices the jelly that the pig is licking off his fingers and grabs the construction paper crime scene sketches. He flips through them until he finds one on hot pink paper with the sign drawn complete with a squidgy looking red handprint on it. He slides the paper across the table to Stattler and Waldorf. He points at the squidgy looking handprint, “what’s that supposed to be?”  
Waldorf rolls his eyes, “who are you supposed to be? A detective or something?”  
Benedict sighs, “maybe in another life.”  
Stattler cackles, “he has more than one! I wonder if the other one is any worse!”  
Waldorf guffaws and pulls out a small notebook and flips through it, “it was strawberry jam. It was a handprint of strawberry jam.”  
Benedict looks at the pig who has gone ashen grey, “I bet if you test the jam on the pig it will match the jam on the missing sign.”  
The pig’s eyes got wide as he realized that the door was locked behind him. Benedict sat and sighed ignoring the pandemonium around him until he heard the pig shout, “I’ll tell you why we’re plummeting to earth at an alarming rate!” He pulled out a short metallic looking pen light type thing and pressed the button as he pointed it at Benedict laughing like a maniac.

* * *

Sporting yet another splitting headache Benedict pulled himself to his feet. He glanced around the room trying to discern where he was when he realized that his point of view was wrong. Not ‘I’ve got a headache and the room is spinning’ wrong, but ‘I’m pretty sure Martin Freeman is taller than I am’ wrong. He caught a glance at himself in the mirror and screamed. Yes, he screamed, like a young girl. But, who could blame him, after all it’s not every day you look in the mirror and realize that you’re now about three feet tall, green, and named Sherlock Hemlock.

* * *

Benedict awoke and groaned, not a dream then. He stood and looked in the mirror again poking the face and finding that it was made of felt. He sighed and glared as someone knocked on the door swearing and falling to the floor with a yelp as a shaggy grey dog bounded past him and jumped up on the door.  
“Who are you supposed to be?” He leaned down and attempted to grab the tag around the dog’s neck, his hands refusing to grasp the collar. Benedict sighed, “sit, and let me figure out your name.” The dog saw and warily looked at Benedict as he grabbed the tag. ‘Watson’ was scribed in block letters into the surface of the tag and as Benedict read it he began to laugh. He laughed so long that fluffy blue tears came to his eyes and he cried as he laughed. “They named the dog Watson!” The dog in question stared at Benedict through narrow eyes and barked when there was a pounding on the door. Benedict stood from where he had fallen and opened the door his eyes opening wide as he saw a nine foot tall yellow bird standing in front of him.  
“Mr. Hemlock, we need your help.” Big Bird said.  
Benedict’s mouth dropped open, “with what?”  
“Cereal markers.”  
“Cereal markers? Explain.”  
“You know how they never leave a note?”  
Benedict sighs, “Let me guess, this time they did?”  
Big Bird grins, “yes! Will you come?”  
“Who’s on forensics?”  
“Andy and Randy Pig.”  
Benedict snorts and says dryly, “but Andy and Randy Pig won’t work with me.”  
Big Bird sighs, “well, they won’t be your assistants.”  
Benedict rolls his eyes, “but I NEED an assistant.”  
Big Bird starts out the door, “will you come?”  
Benedict waves his hand imperiously the grimaces, “that’s something Mycroft would do, what’s going on? Um.. Not in your car, I’ll take a cab.”  
Big Bird frowns, “what’s a cab?”  
“A car. That takes you places? Then you pay them?” Benedict said slowly.  
Big Bird looks at Benedict and frowns, “but why would you pay for a cab? Laurieston’s Garden is only a block away.”  
Benedict sighed and shook his head. “Yeah, I’m coming.”  
Big Bird hurried out the door and Benedict followed slowly dragging his feet as Watson bounded ahead of him. 

* * *

Watson bounded into the building and Benedict followed at a slightly slower pace allowing for the searing temperature to be somewhat lessened by the shade of the building. Being made of felt, wearing a deerstalker, and an old fashioned cloak was a weighty and hot proposition under the quite frankly alarmingly warm sun. Benedict attempted to wipe his forehead only to find that in one hand was a magnifying glass. He tried to put it in his pocket then looked closer to realize that it was actually glued to his fingers. He groaned and glared into the store where he saw thick black marks all over a row of cereal boxes. Unlike the previous cereal marker crimes, Big Bird was right, this time there was a note. And like the note in the script he remembered from before he went insane it said, “GET SHERLOCK ☺.”  
Benedict sighed and murmured, “fuck.” He shouted and turned as a woman with excessively frizzy hair growled at him from under a broad brimmed hat.  
“You can’t talk like that a crime scene, freak.”  
Benedict’s mouth fell open, and he stared, “right…. Sally?”  
“Sally? Who’s Sally? How dare you!” Miss Piggy turns to Benedict and glares at him, “I’m not Sally! Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii-YA!” Benedict groans as he hits the ground Miss Piggy’s karate chop landing between the his shoulder and head on the side of his neck knocking him backwards. Through the red haze covering his gaze Benedict hears, “It’s Miss Piggy, freak.”  
Benedict groans and stares towards the sky noting vaguely that it looks real and that somehow he still needs to figure out what the holy hell is actually happening. He struggles to his feet and wobbling tries to walk through the door. The pig stops him.  
“I’m here with Big Bird.”  
Miss Piggy glares, “why?”  
Benedict grins wolfishly, “I was invited.”  
“Why?” Miss Piggy spat.  
Benedict barely stops himself from rolling his eyes, “I think he wants me to take a look.”  
“Well, you know what I think, don’t you?” Miss Piggy says flatly.  
“Always. Piggy.” Benedict flicks a glance at her shoes, “I even know you didn’t make it home last night.”  
Miss Piggy glares and hollers through the door, “Freak’s here, bringing him in!”  
Benedict steps inside and Watson the dog follows. Benedict looks around noticing everything in the store including a fairly blatant stock boy who is sitting and glaring at the police trying to hide the black ink stains on his nose. Andy and Randy Pig come towards Benedict wearing strange paper suits that look like they were made from paper grocery bags. Benedict sighs.  
“Ah, Andy and Randy, here we are again.”  
Andy glares and points a hoofed hand at Benedict, “it’s a crime scene. I don’t want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?”  
Benedict glances at their shoes and smirks, “quite clear. And, is the pig staying with you for long?”  
Randy glares and Andy’s mouth falls open, “don’t pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that.”  
Benedict grinned, “your shoes told me that.”  
“My shoes?” Andy inquired  
“Yes, they’re for men,” Benedict said with a smirk.  
Andy and Randy glared and spat in perfect unison, “of course they’re for men, we’re wearing them.”  
Benedict grinned and leaned forward motioning them towards him, “so’s the pig.”  
Miss Piggy glares and winds up for another karate chop but Benedict steps out of the way and she ends up karate chopping Randy in the back of the head. He falls over and stares up at the ceiling dazed.  
“I’m sure the pig came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay.”  
Piggy and Andy glare at him in horror as Benedict walks deeper into the store looking at the cereal boxes. He glances at the stock boy and rolls his eyes. He strides to Big Bird and surreptitiously motions towards the stock boy sitting on the crate of oranges.  
“He did it. Probably trying to be famous. He was going to try to steal the cereal boxes after hours to sell them for candy money on Ebay.”  
Big Bird claps Benedict on the back making him stagger and walks towards the stock boy whose eyes get wide. He tries to escape but fails as Big Bird grabs him by the scruff of the neck and reads him his rights.  
Benedict slowly walks down Sesame Street, Watson following him closely yipping and growling at butterflies that lazily flit in front of him. They get back to 221B Bacon Street and Benedict sits on the front steps of the brownstone that is actually more of a peachy yellow. Without warning he hears a crash and from nowhere a trash can lid hits him square in the side of the head, knocking his skull into the post of the stairs. Benedict slumps to the ground unconscious, Watson barking franticly next to him.

* * *

Benedict groans and opens his eyes, shuddering as a gust of cold wind howls through the alley. He shakes his head and pulls himself to his feet checking his pockets, thankful to find that nothing is missing. He pulls out his phone and checks the time noticing that less than a minute has past since he last looked at his phone. He slowly shuffles out of the alley towards the street where he hails a yellow taxi and drives away.

* * *

In the alley two glowing eyes stare after Benedict. As his cab drives away a small furry red creature steps into the only pool of light in the alley and stares after him muttering, “more apples or more oranges, did you miss me?”

* * *

Six Weeks Later  
Christmas

His next-door neighbor would never admit it but as Benedict Cumberbatch stomped out of the back door of his home with a box giggling wildly he watched with avid interest. He was slightly horrified as he listened to the gurgling end of the ‘Tickle-Me-Elmo’ as Benedict stood and watched the fire burn in the small trash pail in the back of the garden. His neighbor also watched as three boxes of perfectly good candy canes and a bag of Jolly Ranchers joined the fire. The Neighbor would also never admit that he laughed out loud as a Miss Piggy puppet joined the conflagration.

* * *

The following April  
Cardiff, Wales

Benedict was standing on the train platform waiting for the 5:10 train to London Central. The televisions hanging from the ceilings of the train station were silently playing the local weather report flickering in between the reports every so often. Benedict idly swiped through his phone and glanced at the screen of the television freezing as he did so.  
In the middle of the screen a red fuzzy being stared at him like he was staring into his soul. The previously silent television began to play at a louder and louder volume until the entire train station (or Benedict’s head- your guess) echoed with the phrase, “did you miss me?”  
Benedict took a horrified step away from the televisions and nearly pitched over the side of the platform. Martin grabbed him and stared at Benedict’s panicked face, “you all right mate?”  
Benedict shook his head, horrified. With no warning, the train pulled into the station, as it slowed the draft from the engine threw a suitcase into the air where it hit Martin in the back of the head. As Martin fell to the ground he pushed Benedict back, causing Benedict’s head to connect with the pillar behind him. Both men fell unconscious in the empty train station.

* * *

Benedict groaned and opened his eyes. He sighed, “fuck.” His hands were green and fuzzy again. Next to him a shaggy grey dog stood up and stretched staggering as he tried to figure out how to walk on four legs.  
Martin glanced down at the sidewalk, noticing that he had four feet and no hands; he also seemed to be shorter than he remembered. He looked up and his eyes got wide as he saw Sherlock Hemlock sitting in front of him looking a bit green. (Even greener than he usually looked.)  
“Hey, Sherlock, you want to tell me what’s going on?”  
Benedict jumped and fell backwards towards the door, scrabbling to get away from the talking dog. Then, realizing what happened he began to laugh. He laughed until he was helplessly staring up at the sky with tears streaming out of his eyes. The disgruntled dog stared at him until he was finished.  
“So, you want to tell me why I’m a fucking dog you prick?”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you enjoyed this. I might have ideas for a couple sequels if it goes over well. If not, you're welcome to flame me. This is pretty disjointed but I think it sort of fits the mindset of a Sesame Street viewer.


End file.
